


tell me my sorrow (my black grief)

by sinteresting_facts



Series: Afterthoughts (WoW RP and OC Stuff) [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: (Implied for both), Blood and Gore, Gen, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Mental Breakdown, Night Terrors, Original Character(s), Trans Male Character, also character is strapped down in a dream so if thats potentially harmful to u then be wary, deadnamed but deadname is not shown, heavy CW for above, just an overall bad time for schae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinteresting_facts/pseuds/sinteresting_facts
Summary: He hasn't dreamed since that night, you know, in the church behind Karazhan. It's been a cold, black void whenever he managed to close his eyes.It's been months. Well.Oh no.





	tell me my sorrow (my black grief)

**Author's Note:**

> (name pronounced skay-larsh.) Enjoy!

_A steady sound of dripping water echoed around him._

 

_He twitched and came to in a quickly fading haze of static._

 

_Schaelarche’s eyelids fluttered, harsh light blinding him as he tried to open his eyes. He didn’t know what he was lying on, maybe it was stone or smooth wood, whatever it was, it was cold. The chill seeped up through his back, invading him as easily as the bright, blinding light did. He managed to pry his eyes open a crack, jolting his arms out an inch, only to be stopped by unseen bindings. His eyes snapped open, and his stomach dropped as white filled his vision, no clear definition to anything._

 

_He pulled at the straps, the hiss of stretching leather hitting his ears as he tried in vain to move. Chains scraped against the ground as he pulled, the grating sound signaling an extra layer of restriction that’d been placed on him. Schae began to panic, and he pitched his shoulders to one side, trying to break out of whatever was holding him a different way. He didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know where he was. It was stone, underneath him, he could see the faint outline of a raised platform that he seemed to be laying on._

 

_He rolled his torso from side to side, trying to shimmy out of the straps. Every scrape, every ‘clink’ of the chains sent a shiver down his spine. He managed to lean up, the bindings letting him curl an inch or so off of the table._

 

_Without warning, a hand shoved him back down roughly, holding him in place as he lashed out, letting out a strangled scream. He couldn’t see, everything was blinded by white._

 

_“Who are you, w-what, who are you!” he all but yelled out the words. His voice was rough, strained, but he could speak, light, he could speak–what was going on?_

_A faint rumble drifted throughout the space, voices echoing._

 

**_“We’re just trying to help you.”_ **

 

_“Who are you?!”_

 

**_“We’re just trying to_ ** _-we need not dwindle on such things, little mou–_ **_help you_ ** _._ **_We’re just trying to help y–_ ** _of your life.”_

 

_The voices drowned out everything else, interfering and cutting into one another until it was a deafening cacophony. Schae closed his eyes, unable to drown out the sound any other way._

 

_“Stop, please, please just let me go, just let me go.”_

 

**_“We’re just trying to help you.”_ **

 

_The hand pressed down firmly onto his chest, claws, or nails digging in painfully. His panic ramped up to 10, and he tossed and turned, trying to shake it off in vain. He choked back tears._

 

_“What do you n-need from me, what do you-, what do you, what could you need, please, please just let me go,” he sobbed, throat tightening into a knot._

 

**_“We’re just trying to help you_ ** _-no you don’t–Hello there, little–_ **_just trying to help you._ ** _”_

 

_Another hand–the same hand?–ground down on his neck, cutting off his airflow. Schae gasped, and choked, wheezing out a cut-off cough before freezing. He didn’t pass out, why couldn’t he pass out? Get this over with, just let it happen, just let it go on and then just die or pick up the pieces all over again, what was going on-_

_He lay there, frozen and awake, the hand on his throat tightening more, causing a piercing pain to shoot through his neck. Two more hands–light, how many were there going to be?–pulled down on his shoulders, forcing them flat on the table._

 

_“Enough talking out of you, how about we get to the fun part?”_

 

_Schaelarche’s eyes glazed over in fear, the words all too familiar. ‘No, no no no, please not again, I can’t, not again,’ he thought, over and over again. A weak whine pushed itself out from his crushed throat, making its way through his frozen lips._

_Rough hands fisted his hair, yanking at the roots, and jerked his head off the table suddenly._

 

_He couldn't see, could only feel the push and drag of the thick needle as his mouth was sewn shut once more. He shuddered violently as a finger pulled at one of the sutures once it was finished._

 

_Nothing for a moment._

_That was the hardest, not knowing what was coming._

 

_A minute later, he felt the cold of metal being pressed against his face. His vision blurred, and he could barely see the contraption as yet more hands strapped and buckled the muzzle around him._

_All at once the hands disappeared, and he fell back on the slab heavily, head lolling back as he shuddered in a deep breath. It was hard, mouth sewn and muzzled._

 

**_“We’re just trying to help you.”_ **

 

_He felt dead tired, limbs leaden. He struggled weakly again. Chains scraped, leather hissed. Nothing._

 

_“You did this to yourself, be better next time–”_

 

_He let out a low whine at that, he felt his eyelids drooping._

 

_“Come on we don’t pay you for this–of your Life–_ ** _to help you.”_**

 

_The voices droned on and on, for forever, it felt like. He almost didn’t notice the first cut and tear into his flesh as it carefully chipped away at the flesh of his arm like ice. Schae jolted back into painful clarity a moment later, the blade in his arm sending him into another spiral of panic._

 

_“You didn’t do it right. We have to fix you. Take out the bad–“_

 

_He couldn’t stop himself from shaking his head, ‘no, I'm not, p-please please just stop–no, this–just please let-me, let me go–’_

_Something impossibly cold wedged itself inside the gouged-out portion of his arm, something like ice, but, ice..? That didn’t, that didn’t make sense–Another piercing stab, deep under his kneecap. He thrashed, groaning out through the stitches and muzzle. A hand surged forward and grabbed his chin, jerking his face upwards and to the side viciously. Another stab, this time in his eye, the action ripping a strangled scream from his damaged throat._

 

_“All you had to do was shut up, and we wouldn’t have had to do this, would we? Why don’t you know better? Why don’t you DO better?”_

 

_He shook his head in the hand’s grip, the formation of apologies fumbling hollowly in his mouth._

 

_“Shhhh. Shh.”_

 

_He whimpered again, unable to help himself._

 

_“I said. Shh.”_

 

_The hand pulled him forward hard, and the joints in his arms, after being locked for so long against his side, threatened to pop and twist loose. He couldn’t stop himself from emitting a low groan, terror, and shame filling him. He always fucked everything up. Couldn’t even shut up right._

 

_A sigh echoed, he couldn’t recognize the voice anymore, and the hand dropped him. His skull cracked dully against the slab, and Schaelarche was stunned into silence._

 

_“Better. Now be a–good boy, just like–now just stay still.”_

 

_It was too much, way too much, everything coming back, everything hitting him all at once. ‘Why why, why why why, what have I done please I’m sorry, please just, what I’ve done tell me I’ll fix it I swear I’m sorry just stop–‘ He felt a sliver of warmth as tears slipped from his eyes._

 

_“No, no,” the voice chastised. “None of that, that–that doesn’t sell–isn’t what we do when someone helps you, now is it? You thank them. Thank me,_ ______ _. Be polite.”_

 

_A hand dragged down his jaw as the voice spoke, tapping the leather of the muzzle. It hooked a finger through the wire of the metal cage and pulled a little. Schae’s stomach curdled, and he shuddered once more, shivering violently._

 

_“Thank me.”_

 

_He couldn’t, his mouth–he couldn’t speak, what’d the voice expect him to do..?_

 

_“Are you deaf? Thank me.”_

 

_His elbows were starting to throb, the angle they were being pulled at wearing them out quickly. He winced, which earned him another jerk forward._

 

_“I won’t tell you again ____._ **_We’re just trying to help you_ ** _, little mouse.”_

 

_All of the voices blurred together, and he tried to say something. He really did, but between the pressure of the muzzle on his jaw, and the stitches, he couldn’t._

 

_“Ungrateful mutt. Can’t even speak, can’t even thank your–I know how we can put that mouth to–Enough talking out of you–”_

 

_Pure terror coursed through him, he didn’t know what was going to happen to him. Why wasn’t anyone coming, was anyone even there? Did anyone know he was missing? Did anyone care? He still didn’t know where he was, didn’t know anything, didn’t know enough to stop getting kidnapped, couldn’t do anything, couldn’t do anything right, couldn’t speak, just filled with the cold, cold cold_ **_cold._ **

 

_Another hand went for his throat, and Schaelarche screamed, tearing through the stitching with a strangled cry. Blood filled his mouth, and his vision went dark, he couldn’t tell if he’d been blinded or–. A choked, ugly sob ripped itself from him, and he coughed, blood catching in the muzzle._

 

_“Disgusting._ **_We were just trying to help_ ** _, we spent all this time on you, to show you we care. And this is how you repay us? You’re not worth this, not worth anything, are you? Pathetic.”_

 

_“I-I’m,” the words were bubbly, and garbled coming from his shredded lips. “I’m s-sorry, I’ll do better next time please, just–“_

_Another hand gripped his hair, tight enough to feel pain sear through his scalp._

 

_“No next time.”_

 

_Hands swarmed him, a horrible screeching echoing from every corner of the space. He writhed and twisted, trying to escape but they kept coming, covering every inch of him, invading his body. He screamed, vision fading as he felt himself be torn apart, falling apart and breaking down down down_ **_down–_ **

 

He gasped for air, shooting up straight from the floor, his sleeping bag twisted around his torso uncomfortably. Schae choked, coughing as he doubled over and shivered in a cold sweat. The walls of his room felt like a cage, but they seemed real. He pinched himself, the pain feeling more real than what’d just happened, and he belatedly realized he was no longer bound in leather and chains, and no longer freezing. 

 

He scrambled to sit up against the wall, clutching his legs in close to his chest before he dropped his forehead down against them and sobbed. His chest heaved, but he didn’t feel safe, didn’t feel safe enough to move. He tried to make himself as small as possible, shrinking back from the terrors in his head. 

 

Just a dream. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from The Poet by Tigran Hamasyan
> 
> As always, comments/critique are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading! <3


End file.
